Phoning it in
by mandaree1
Summary: Diane gets sidetracked by her Twitter feed, then her Tumblr, and then she gets so desperate she logs onto Facebook for the first time in years, but eventually she's all out of social media and she finds a decent hospital to check herself into. She smokes a cigarette, logs the coordinates into her GPS, and starts driving.


**Disclaimer: I don't own BoJack Horseman!**

 **Title: Phoning it in**

 **Summary: Diane gets sidetracked by her Twitter feed, then her Tumblr, and then she gets so desperate she logs onto Facebook for the first time in years, but eventually she's all out of social media and she finds a decent hospital to check herself into. She smokes a cigarette, logs the coordinates into her GPS, and starts driving. Traffic is a bitch, as always, but Diane expected that. She didn't expect a call from Tommy.**

 **Warnings: Suicide idealization, smoking, and dysfunctional relationships. If I need to add more, please don't hesitate to tell me**

 **...**

Diane gets sidetracked by her Twitter feed, then her Tumblr, and then she gets so desperate she logs onto Facebook for the first time in years, but eventually she's all out of social media and she finds a decent hospital to check herself into. She smokes a cigarette, logs the coordinates into her GPS, and starts driving. Traffic is a bitch, as always, but Diane expected that. She didn't expect a call from Tommy.

Diane hit answer against her better judgement, sending it to her car speakers. "Can this possibly wait?"

Tommy, like all her brothers, doesn't respond or care about her objections. "Hey, Didi."

"Shhh!" Diane hears Marty hiss. "The game is back on."

"Is it a new one or a recorded one?" Diane asked, also against her better judgement. She knows the ins and outs of all the games they watch, mostly due to a considerable amount of exposure rather than being interested. She also knows it'll get Tommy on a rant about teams and scores. She can't help herself; she needs a voice to fill the empty passenger seat, the slowly vanishing smell of alcohol and other unsavory things.

Tommy, for once, doesn't rant. "Hey, listen, Didi. Things are _bad_."

"I don't have the cash to spare, Tommy. Go ask mom."

"That's the thing. Ma's kicking the pigskin in Heaven."

Diane's hands tighten on the steering wheel. She hates the fact that she isn't even surprised. "What happened?"

"Doc says it was a heart attack."

"You're talking over the game, asshole!"

"Shut it, Artie! I'm talkin' to Diane." There's a quick scuffle over the phone, but Tommy still has the proverbial floor. "Listen, Diane, we did everything this time, okay? We even did the fancy funeral stuff."

"Tell me you didn't chum her."

"Nah, Didi, that was for dad. We planted a cactus in Ma's ashes. Anyway, we need somebody to read the will. Can you do it?"

"Why?"

"There's a lotta big words there, Didi. I ain't fond of words bigger'n football."

Diane sighs, counts to ten, and forces her shoulders to relax. "You know what? Fine. I'll come by. But it's going to be a bit; my Prius only goes so fast."

* * *

As it turns out, there is no will. Not really. It's mostly just a written fuck-you to stars long dead or retired. They all cheer anyway (Diane mostly for show) and that's that. Diane declines the offer to stay in her room and instead gets a hotel, pointedly ignoring Gary's barb about it being on the wrong side of the tracks. It's not. There's a nice Chinese restaurant a few doors down.

Her phone rings around eleven. There's no name. Diane contemplates not answering, but she's already down on the ground, might as well get a kick in too. "Hello?" she slurs, stuck somewhere between sleep and insomnia.

"Hey, Diane."

It's BoJack.

"It's BoJack. Horseman, obviously."

A lot of concepts float into her mind. _I hate you_ is near the top of the list. _Why are you calling me, I told you I hate you_ is close behind. Diane wishes she had a big enough backbone to hit end call right then and there, just not feed his ego at all, but she knows herself. Diane's always needed to get in the last word. It's why she likes to write so much- she can make a point and publish, and no one can change it. They can comment, or dislike, or block, but that's small potatoes.

Instead, she says; "Why aren't you calling from your phone?" because Diane hasn't gotten around to deleting his number yet.

" _They_ took it," he says, as if they are some big scary enemy and not just people trying to help. "You don't wanna know what I had to do just to get restricted access. Oh, someone's listening in on us, by the way. It's probably Jerry."

"Hey," says probably Jerry, either from behind him or from a really fuzzy line. She's too tired to tell.

"Hey," Diane says. "I'm Diane. I'm not, like, a dealer or anything. I drove him in."

"Piss off, Jerry, I'm talking to Diane," BoJack grumbled. It's like how Tommy spoke to Artie, but different, because for all the horrible, shitty things BoJack has done, almost none of them have been to her personally- unlike Tommy. "I, uh, I just wanted you to know that things are going alright here. I mean, it sucks, I hate it, but it's going."

"Okay."

"Turns out I've been dependent for so long they can't make me go cold turkey, so they're giving me controlled stuff. I think I'd rather go cold turkey, honestly. Rip the band-aid off."

"Okay."

"Look, Diane. I'm not asking you to like me or anything. But you drove me, and you helped me practice, so I figured it was only fair I give you updates. And I'm... kind of lonely in here."

Diane sighs. "My mom is dead."

"Oh, shit. What happened? Oh, wait, shit-"

"It's fine. She had a heart attack, I guess. They turned her into ashes and planted a cactus in her."

"That's messed up," probably Jerry chips in.

"It's not as bad as what they did to my dad," she admitted.

BoJack smacks his lips. "Well, welcome to the my-parents-are-dead club. You're in the big leagues now. Batman, Superman, Robin-"

"Which one?"

"...Aren't all the Robins orphans?"

"Not Damian Wayne. He's Bruce Wayne's birth son."

"What? Man, you miss out on all the plot twists in rehab."

 _The real plot twist is Batman's uncensored dick_ , Diane thinks, but doesn't want to ever have to put into words ever. "I think he officially debuted in, like, 2006? He's been out for a while."

They talk until probably Jerry politely tells them time is up, and BoJack, ever the whiner, tries to ramble on past that, but Diane tells him good night and hangs up, stomach churning. She doesn't know if she's more of a hypocrite for seeking comfort from the man she can no longer stand or for letting him do the same of her. It probably doesn't matter. It's too late to un-screw how perpetually screwed they are; the public knows them as friends. Diane could all but scream the truth to the sky and they'd find some way to turn it in BoJack's favor. Why wouldn't they? He's a star. She's Diane.

She's just Diane.

* * *

The traffic at noon is even bitchier than usual, leaving Diane half-dozing, half-dizzy with hunger in the driver's seat. She hasn't seen her bed in what feels like months. She didn't know she could miss her gross apartment like this. Then a tennis ball lights up her phone, and Diane suddenly doesn't ever want to see L.A. again.

But she hits answer. Because what's her life without drama.

"I didn't tell her," Mr. Peanutbutter exhales into the speaker. Diane wonders how long he's been debating making this call. "I- I tried but I couldn't. I'm a coward."

"Mr. Peanutbutter," Diane says. "I'm like halfway across the US right now. I couldn't tell her even if it _was_ my job."

"...Can't I give her your number?"

"You may, but it's still your responsibility."

"Oh, so you're half at fault here, but I've got to own up to it all on my own?" he scoffed. "Typical."

"I never said that. I screwed up just as bad as you did. This is- this is the kind of shit I _write about_ , Mr. Peanutbutter. The stuff I'm supposed to be morally _above_. And I'm not. I'm a trash fire. Trash fires aren't above much of anything." Diane took one hand from the wheel to wipe away sweat getting dangerously close to her eyes. "I'm always going to be the bitch who ruined a young woman's first serious relationship. I'm always going to be the clingy ex-wife you hear about at parties. That's the way I've chosen my reputation to go down. But _you're_ the boyfriend here, Mr. Peanutbutter. _You're_ the one who entered a serious relationship. You're going to have to be the one to man up and tell her what we did."

"You're not a trash fire. _I'm_ the trash fire." Mr. Peanutbutter's voice went soft and nice, like it always did when he was regretting saying something. "I... I made it worse, Diane."

"How could you _possibly_ have made this worse?"

"I asked her to marry me."

The simple sentence feels like a blow upside the noggin. Diane had divorced him with the full knowledge that she was just one in a line of women who had been left in the past. She'd known without a doubt that he'd get married again one day. She just didn't think he'd do that to Pickles. Didn't think he was _that_ shitty. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah."

"I'm, uh, I'm happy for you."

"Thanks."

"Mr. Peanutbutter? Did you... ever do this to me? _Cheat_ on me?"

He didn't answer. "I'm gonna give her your number. I just... I dunno. It feels right. Y'know what I mean?"

Diane slowly nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Just because I'm not the one to tell her doesn't mean I don't deserve to get the blame."

"Okay."

"Goodbye, Mr. Peanutbutter."

"Goodbye, Diane. I lo-"

Diane hung up.

* * *

"I'm just saying, it feels like they're giving my dick a squeeze before letting go. So unfair. Either gimme or say no and go, y'know?"

"BoJack."

"Yeah?"

"Don't they have limits on these things? How many times you can call a week or something?"

"We do," says the man behind or on another line- this one is Bernard or Bill, BoJack was terrible with names. "But Mr. Horseman seems much more responsive when he has someone he feels he can vent to."

"Thanks, Bernard or Bill."

"It's Bill."

"Piss off, Bernard, I'm talking to _Diane_ ," BoJack says yet again, saying Diane like it's a super important name that everyone should know. Like he's gone to group therapy sessions and talked about her, or rambled on to nurses about how she wrote a book all about him, or how she spent a fair space of time drunkenly living with him. Knowing BoJack, he probably has, for the exact same reason he talks about Tanya Harding or the sneeze photo- to start another BoJack Horseman story. "Anyway, what I'm getting at is that sobering up is a bitch. Those commercials make it seem so easy. What a ripoff."

"Is there a point to this?"

A vacant pause. "Not really, no."

Diane sighed, rolling onto her back. The paper-thin covers are marginally more comfortable than sleeping out in the Prius. "Can this at least wait until I get home, then?"

"But what if you won't talk to me when you get home? You can't unplug your phone. You can unplug your landline."

"I don't have a landline, BoJack," she says tiredly. "We're gonna see each other, like it or not. We work in the same business. There's, like, a handful of people doing it all."

"But you hate me."

"Plot twist," Bill says, sounding vaguely surprised.

"Piss off, Bill," Diane pleads. "BoJack, look. Do you want the truth, or do you want a nice little lie that'll make you feel pacified and let me sleep?"

"I mean, I _want_ the nice little lie, but now that I know it's not the truth I'll feel even more paranoid after, so..."

"We've known each other for ten goddamn years now. Hell, before that, even. I grew up watching you and admiring you." Part of her still wanted to, even after all these years. Wanted to blink and find out it was just a really weird side-effect of some bad smokes, and BoJack Horseman is every bit as personable as The Horse from Horsin' Around. But life sucks. "There comes a point where it's too late to step back and never talk again. Our social circles are linked. _We're_ linked. Like it or not."

"Oh," BoJack says. "Okay."

"I know that tone of voice. You're more than okay with it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I kinda am. I need you in my life, Diane. I know I bullshit a lot, but that's something that's not bullshit. Even when you hate me, I need you around."

That's almost enough to make Diane chuck her phone, because _la dee da, why did he think his need outweighed her personal space_ , but that would probably hurt Bill's ears, and he's just doing his damn job. "That's great for you, BoJack. I'm sure I'll probably end up on your couch again one day, bitching about life, beer or no beer."

"I'd like that."

" _But_ , until then, I'm fucking pissed and I have a long day of driving tomorrow."

"Shouldn't you be in L.A. by now?"

"I'm not heading to L.A."

* * *

Diane smokes half a pack in two days. She's smoked more in half that time. She drives and drives and drives until she finds a suitable cliff. Then she parks on the side of the road and stares, deciding. She lights up. Why not, she thinks. If she gets up the guts, it can be like the goodbye cigar people do in the cartoons. If she doesn't, it's just another centimeter of charcoal lung towards her death.

This isn't the first time thoughts of plunging off something have plagued her. It's just the first time in a very, very long time.

It's then, leaning on the hood of her Prius (which could really use a bath), that her phone chimes once again. Unknown caller. Diane assumes it's BoJack and lets it ring until it hits voicemail.

It's not BoJack.

"Um, hi?" Pickles' semi-familiar lit feels heavy and delayed. "Is this- I mean, I _hope_ this is Diane's phone. Mr. gave it to me, but I'm really bad about typing in the wrong numbers. One time, I tried to call a store to see if it was open, and I managed to get some random guy named Brian."

Diane hits answer, effectively ruining the message. "Hey. Sorry about that. I was in the other room."

"Diane!" she cheers, and damn if that doesn't make her feel even worse. "Sorry if this is a terrible time or something. I just wanted to tell you that Mr. is taking me to the Labrador Peninsula!"

"Congrats."

Pickles doesn't notice the dour tone to her voice. "I'm so excited! Aaaah! You went, right? What's it like?"

"Lots of stars and frisbees," she says. "You'll love it."

"I'm more of a tennis ball girl, myself, but it sounds pretty amazing." Diane can hear a panting coming from the pug, and she can imagine the look on her face; ears up, tongue out, completely unaware of how shitty the people in her life are, but she'll learn. Oh, she'll learn. "What do you think of Captain Peanutbutter? He sounds pretty great."

"He is. He can be a little... intense. But he's a good dog."

She caught it this time. "Diane?"

Diane sighed, breathing out smoke. "Mr. Peanutbutter and I had a fight there. He's a great guy, and so is Captain, but they both pretend nothing goes wrong when they're in the Peninsula. And when you, say, get a twisted spleen, it doesn't go well."

Pickles gasped. "Oh, no! Were you okay?"

"It was Captain's spleen, and he's fine. Just... don't take it to heart, okay?"

"Diane?"

"Yup?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

She heard Pickles shift her phone to her other ear. "How come Mr. always goes after women like... like you? Who're, you know-"

"Mean?"

"No, not mean. Pessimistic, I guess? But not mean. You're nice, Diane."

Wow, that cliff is looking amazing right now. "Mr. Peanutbutter is an optimist. He loves helping people see the possibilities. It draws people in- people who've never been _allowed_ to feel that free before. And who knows? Maybe, deep down, Mr. Peanutbutter likes having someone who sees so much reality he doesn't have to worry about seeing it himself."

"Oh," she says. "What does that make me, then?"

Shit, shit, shit. Stop being an ass, Diane Nguyen. "It makes you super special. I mean, all his ex-wives are cynical and bitter, but you're not. That could be a sign of a long, loving future together."

"Awwww, thanks."

"Mmhmm." Diane starts up another one. When they pull her car out, they'll smell her cheap gas station cigarette reek for miles. "Hey, don't let my worries get you down, alright? I'm just a downer overall."

"Diane?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you come to our wedding?"

Diane spits out the cigarette, scrambling to stomp it out before any grass is effected. " _Me_? You want _me_ there? But-" she swapped ears- "I mean, won't it be weird having his ex at your wedding?"

"A little," she agreed. "But you're nice, and you've been a great help. Please come?"

Diane looked up at the cliff, thinking of the ocean below. She remembered her original plans- to get herself checked into a ward for her own safety- and she realized now what she'd known then; she couldn't just go. Not like this. It wouldn't be fair- to herself or to Pickles, who would soon realize that she's not nice, that she's horrible and even if it had been completely unprompted BoJack hadn't been completely wrong when he said they were the same, and when that day came it was only right that she be around to yell and scream and pound at.

"Sure," Diane says. "I'd be honored."

"Eeeeee! Thanks so much!"

"Congratulations, Pickles."

* * *

"I'm here because I'm like two seconds away from doing something bad," Diane says without prompting as the nurse types away. The lady looked up, eyebrows raised, and handed her a sheet to fill out. Diane gave her the cell she'd had clutched in her hands the entire way in. "Take it. Believe me, I'll be happier without it."

 **Author's Note: I finally binged season five! There's a lot going on here, and it's actually pretty neat I managed this in one day. PC might be my fav, but I always manage to end up writing Diane.**

 **This is more of a character study than anything else, using snippets of phone calls to see into how Diane is- or isn't- dealing with everything.**

 **-Mandaree1**


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